


Consider Yourself Promoted, Gorgeous

by cartographicalspine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Festivals, Fluff, Hats, Holidays, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartographicalspine/pseuds/cartographicalspine
Summary: On any given day somewhere in the Free Marches, Isabela can be found buying a hat. Her lovers have many things to contribute to the mood.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Consider Yourself Promoted, Gorgeous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hurdlelocker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurdlelocker/gifts).



> It was a joy writing this for you, dear! I hope you find lots of laughs and lots of good feelings in this silly, happy little festive adventure!

It was Fenris who suggested they head down to the festival, an idea that seemed to surprise even him. But he'd told them, in no uncertain terms, that he would not hide while they were together, and neither would they. Not that he was wrong, not exactly. Isabela _had_ done more than her share of moping for the sea, for a ship, for the glistening, infinite horizon. And Sian did need better these days, better than what she'd been given. A string of tavern rooms and nights on the road did nothing for her...for any of them.

"Fenris is right," Isabela said, coaxing Sian up from her blades and tools with a kiss. "What better way to rest than to spend the evening out on the town with good drinks and good company?" 

Sian chanced a half-smile at that. "Just good company, are we?"

"Finer than beer and ale, sweet thing. Maybe even rum."

Fenris sighed as Sian rested her hand on his knee and gave it a quick squeeze. "I feel so loved, don't you?"

"That depends,” he shrugged, rising from the bed to fish for a fresh shirt from the open drawer, “on whether you join us or not." 

They spilled down the tavern steps a few minutes later, Isabela tugging them by their gloved hands through the city. Their breath misted in the cold air as they trampled down snow over the icy, cobbled streets and followed the lanterns to the closest market square. Ostwick had taken the midwinter festival as an excuse to turn the entire city into a great shimmering beacon clinging to the water. It reminded Isabela of a glass ornament tilted sideways on the floor. Or a giant tiered cake that was on fire.

Surprisingly, the city wasn’t in literal flames at the moment, which she took as an improvement over the state of their usual haunts. It wasn’t their fault, not really. Things just sort of happened to them and then they had to stab their way out again. They had gotten really good at that (the stabbing and getting out part) which was what had led them all the way back to the coast, days out from another mess. Markham hadn't been terrible, and she'd seen Zevran again, but the first two years after Kirkwall hit them harder than she expected. Frankly, for all that they didn't talk about it, they missed the old guard. 

_Maybe this will be the year things change again. It'd be nice to drop in and surprise them, just for a while._

“Surprise round for the mainest of my squeezes!”

Sian was carving a path for them through the crowds of revelers that had filled the city's inner ring, arms laden with what looked like the contents of a nobleman’s dinner platter. With that easy grin and those lyrium blue eyes, it wasn’t hard to see how Sian could charm the pants off the poor saps manning the food tables as well as Isabela did. “Praise me, I have brought treats and alcohol for the fair’s beauties.”

“You sweet talker,” Isabela crooned, taking a pair of drinks off her to share with Fenris before stuffing a tiny cake into her mouth. “Mm, get me another of these and I’ll give you something to squeeze.”

“I’m holding you to that. And you, Fenris?”

Fenris took assessing sips and bites of the spread laid out before them, avoiding most of the cakes and all the seafood. “The hot cider with the cream. We could do with more of it.”

“Gotcha, sweetheart,” Sian said with a wink and a bow. She doled out the rest of her rewards among them and smugly went back for seconds after making short work of her ale. 

At the game booths, Sian wheedled the vendors for free turns and Fenris cleared out a row of tossing games. When they got tired of even that, Isabela shoved her gloves into her pocket and pointed them to the games with the best entertainment value: sleight-of-hand.

“Rigged games, unscrupulous cons, and Isabela,” Fenris scoffed, rolling his shoulder after that last high striker. “...actually, I’m tempted.”

“Count me in, too.” Sian’s mouth was sharper than a shark’s grin, and twice as dangerous. Mostly for Isabela, but she did feel a little bit sorry for the showmen behind the stalls when that smile turned in their direction. They had no idea what sort of hurricane they were inviting over. 

Isabela chuckled; Ostwick might be golden and glittering, but even all the lights, food, and gullible card sharks and con men couldn’t hold her attention when it came to Sian and Fenris working the festival booths for their coins’ worth together. Still, it wasn't every day that she got to walk through a glowing city with people she loved when it was _not_ raining fireballs and debris. Might as well enjoy the evening while it lasted. 

And then Isabela spotted a booth in front of a hat shop, the most adorable arrangement of bonnets, caps, and veils she had seen since falling mortar crushed her hat shop dreams in Kirkwall. Darting forward through the crowd, she hugged the felt-and-sawdust toy horses (won in a game of darts courtesy of Sian) to her chest tightly. “Wait, I know that shop name… _ah-ha!_ Here we are, my loves. The finest hat maker this side of the Free Marches!"

Fenris slinked up behind her, pushing his hood back and casting a doubtful gaze over the hat-laden racks. “Or the one hat maker in the province yet to ban us."

Sian swept past them like a whirlwind, picking through the stand's offerings like they were a box of chocolates: some caught her eye, others visibly put her off, and all were hard to judge at first glance. 

“Some people have no sense of humor,” she drawled as she returned to them, draping a scarf over her head experimentally. “Come _on_ , Fenris. That signpost on Tourney Way was a masterpiece.”

“I recall the hatter felt inclined to disagree.”

“Look, the paint came off the important bits! Most of them anyway.”

"Not...all the bits." 

Isabela sighed and tore off her gloves again, eager to get a good feel for the hats set out on display. “Details, details. Anyway, look alive and stop slouching. The shopkeepers can smell indecision on a person like perfume on one of the Blooming Rose girls, Fenris."

 _“...what?”_ It was rare that Isabela earned herself a judging look from Fenris. Oh, he was more exhausted than he’d let on; it had been years since she caught him without a comeback up his sleeve. With a light nudge, she urged Sian to catch them on the uptake.

“Now there's an image,” Sian laughed, leaning forward to grin at Fenris from under the scarf wrapped messily around her head. “Fenris, it's like I'm seeing a whole new side of you.”

“After how thoroughly you examined all my other sides in our room earlier?” Fenris said dryly, though his expression twisted with regret the instant the words left his mouth. 

Sian gave a pleased cackle and threw her scarf around his neck, making sure he didn’t get to duck away from that one. Isabela thought she deserved a kiss for it; Fenris was lovely when he flustered himself, and lovelier when he brought pink to Sian’s cheeks in the process. _Andraste help me, they're the worst._

Fenris cleared his throat and averted his eyes like avoiding the pointed grins would erase his blushing. Or the smile tugging at the corners of his reluctant mouth.

"Too much drink?" Sian teased.

"At this point? Not nearly enough. Isabela, are you sure this shop is necessary?”

"He has a point, darling.” Sian released the scarf to him and leaned against the stand, knocking a couple of felt hats off the display. “You don’t have the best track for this kind of thing.”

Fenris snorted behind a gloved hand, busying himself with setting the scarf back on an empty hanger.

“Heard that, Fenris. Anyway, you really like your hats. Almost as much as your boats. You _can_ get carried away.”

Isabela slipped an arm around Sian’s shoulders and pressed her cheek against the soft blue wool of her coat sleeve. “Are you saying you can't keep up with me, pet?” 

To her delight, Sian took Isabela’s arm and dropped it down to her waist, tugging her that much closer. 

“Hah! Sugarcheeks, we're the _only_ ones who can keep up with you. That's why you love us.”

“How can I argue with that face? Oh...fine, I promise to hurry. Even you can't accidentally set a dragon loose on this place _that_ quickly."

“Excuse me, a dragon would be a great addition to the celebration."

It was Sian’s turn to pull back and pretend to look insulted and judgy. Like brooding, Fenris had the monopoly on that particular mood, but Sian did have smoldering better in practice. Isabela felt they were on pretty equal footing in terms of Looks that Pleased Isabela When She Got the Balls Rolling. _Heh, balls._ She ought to say that out loud sometime.

"I'm not arguing that, sweet thing."

"Besides! I don't attract dragons _everywhere_ I go."

"Is that why we fought so many that Kirkwall started yelling your name whenever there was a dragon?"

"Only at the _Bone Pit."_

"It's tragic that I haven't taken you to the _good_ Bone Pit yet, Sian."

"With a name like that, how good could it be?"

Fenris had turned his back to them, trying so hard to look interested in a hooded wool cloak, but Isabela could see his shoulders shaking as he laughed. "If you're both done shopping…"

“Don't rush me,” Isabela whined, throwing hats off the rack as she ran through the merchandise like a schooner running the coastline: fast, nimble, and on a mission. “I needed the perfect hat for the occasion.”

Fenris snatched a handsome cavalier hat out of the air before it could clip Sian in the head. “I wasn’t aware the festivities required a specific hat.”

“Not just a hat. _The_ hat. I'll know it when I see it.”

“You have a perfectly serviceable hat, you know. One you are fond of.”

“Who wouldn't be?” Sian remarked brightly, tossing a few new hats in Isabela’s direction for judgment. “It's a captain's hat. Oh, the orders that hat has _seen_.”

Fenris blinked wearily. “That's not…”

Isabela decided to help Fenris out, handing off her armload of hats to him so he'd have something to do with himself. She slipped him a kiss, too fleeting for her liking, but any more and she would forget all about her hat. “I think we need a bigger one, don’t you?”

“As you wish, Isabela." Fenris wrinkled his nose at the pile and began to place the booth's supply of hats back on the shelves. Hmph, where was his taste? "Though it is a shame to retire your old one out, isn't it?”

“It's not retired, it's transferred.” Isabela deposited her captain’s hat on his head with a flourish, pleased to see the usual solemn line of his mouth soften at the gesture. “Consider yourself promoted, gorgeous.”

“Dare I ask what promotion?” Fenris said delicately, crooking a brow at her in a way that promised he would pay her back in turn for whatever came out of her mouth.

She smirked, happy to meet that promise head on. “Cabin boy, of course. I'll see you in my quarters.”

Sian was grinning broadly at the two of them, appraising the hat’s new owner with a sly, cheeky gleam in her bright eyes. “Mm, now that's a look a girl could get used to.”

Isabela clicked her tongue. “I haven't forgotten you. Your promotion has to be more...dramatic. I know! You will have my longcoat.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “The one you're wearing?” 

“I'm dressed under this!” Isabela said dismissively, yanking on the clasps that held her overcoat in place over her shoulders. She froze for a second as a thought occurred to her. “Well, for the most important places, anyway.”

“Polite society would disagree.” 

“Polite society is wrong,” Sian countered merrily. “Have you seen us, all of us, back in Kirkwall?” 

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained. “I would argue but as the dwarf continues to prove, I...have to admit you may be right.”

“Varric's chest is a world treasure,” Sian declared with her right hand pressed to her own chest. “Only two others I hold as highly in the world.”

“Oh, sweetcheeks,” Isabela sighed happily, pressing herself soundly to Fenris’ side. “That's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Fenris rolled his eyes skyward. “We're flattered. Apparently.”

Isabela released his arm and elbowed him in the side, _hard_. She had a good arm and she knew it. “You're not?”

“I did just say so,” he winced, more out of her sharp jabbing than the tone of her voice. “In terms of romance, that was up there with lyrium breasts and ‘kinky! let's do this in front of everyone!’”

Isabela let out a startled laugh that didn’t sound half as loud as Fenris’s voice just had. Sian’s head spun in his direction, blinking wide and sparkling eyes at him. “Fenris.”

“I take it you're no longer interested,” he lilted, watching them from under his lashes, fingers toying with the brim of Isabela’s hat. _Wow, okay. No one give Fenris any more bicorne hats while I'm not around._

“Darling, you could recite the entire Chant right now and I'd still be scandalized by what you just said. Here. In public." Sian flicked one of the corners playfully and waggled her eyebrows at him. "With that hat on.” 

“If that scandalizes you, how did you ever survive Isabela's mouth?”

“The gift of tongue. Come on, don't look at me like that, Fenris. I expect it from her.”

 _Andraste's pert arsecheeks._ Maybe it was Isabela projecting how much she wanted to kiss them right now. Maybe it was simply that she’d had plenty to whet her appetites but one. But Sian and Fenris looked so much like they were undressing everyone crowding at the booth—specifically, its three sole shoppers named Sian, Fenris, and Isabela—with their eyes.

Well, almost everyone, but that was because the shopkeeper had flung themself into the shop out of despair. Isabela couldn't exactly blame them. She gave the loves of her life a furious shove in the direction of the docks. “Ugh, shut up already! I can't take it anymore. We're going back to the tavern, _now_.”

“Oh captain, _yes_ , my captain.” Sian leaned on the counter again, crossing her legs and winking teasingly, while Fenris raised his eyebrows at her and asked, “Is that an order, captain?”

“That's my order as your _admiral.”_

Isabela did end up finding The Hat, though the shopkeep really undersold it by the time she got around to haggling for it. The cute little booth closed up right after the coins left her hand, but she didn’t mind too much. All that gold trimming and the feathers sat upon her head made her feel like a proper queen of the seas again. Now, if she could only keep her feet out on the rolling deck, with the sea furling out before her forever.

They took the long way around back to their room, picking up more cider and ale along the way. By the time they reached the sea wall, their feet had measured out half the length of the city. Instead of turning the corner to find the street back to the tavern, they stopped a while to look out across the harbor, watching the waves turn white and gold under the falling snow and the lamplight. Ostwick at night was pretty to stare at, double walls and all. Sheltering behind natural stone like Kirkwall as though the Qunari were still at the gates. But where Kirkwall was carved into the cliffside, Ostwick lay wide open to the sky.

They had so much horizon to look at.

She leaned over the wall and watched the ships bob sweetly in the falling tide, searching for her ship through the inky darkness. Sian joined her, bumping their shoulders together as they settled against the sea wall.

“So...admiral.” Sian whistled softly, looping her arm through Isabela’s, lacing their fingers together between them. “Fancy title there.”

“Nice ring to it, huh?” Isabela could feel warmth through Sian's gloves and found herself chasing that heat to the pulse at Sian's exposed wrist. “Sort of like Champion, or the Wraith.”

“Not a title,” Fenris corrected with a sigh.

“Like the Wraith, but posh,” she repeated blithely, grinning at the moody little wrinkle between Fenris’s eyebrows. 

“There, there,” Sian said, reaching out to pat his hand gently. “To the slavers it might as well be.”

“If the slavers are still speaking, then I’m not doing my job.” But his face didn’t darken with the words like it usually would, and his long, lean back slouched comfortably against the seawall. “So you’re ready to return to the Raiders, Isabela.”

 _Direct as ever, love._ Isabela laughed, checking him with her hip as she moved to place herself squarely between Sian and Fenris. “What gave me away? Dragging you across Markham and Ostwick back to my ship or my sudden yet completely inevitable promotion?”

“Your letter from the Armada.” Fenris shook his head, holding said letter out of Isabela’s reach once she straightened up and recognized the seal on the envelope. “You left it out on top of your post from Aveline and Merrill.”

_"Thief."_

"I learned from the best." 

Isabela pouted and folded her arms over her chest, disappointed that she wasn't wearing a lower cut. But for the cold she would have wrapped him around her finger. “I should have known you would use my own prowess against me.”

“It was kind of obvious, Bela.” Sian rubbed the back of her neck and chuckled into her mittened fist at Isabela's betrayed gasp. “You were muttering in the bath about showing up ‘those puffed up, big-hat, glorified longshoremen’ with their own silly titles sooner or later.”

"Well, I will!" Isabela stamped her foot and scowled until Fenris placed the letter in her hand with a closed-mouthed smile. Devious, but it _was_ a smile all the same. "Bet you didn't even open it, you saps... _oh."_

She had no doubts about it even before turning the envelope over to find the seal intact. Somehow, that made her heart do a funny, happy little swoop back up against her ribcage. They could have pried further, easy, but they chose to wait for her to be ready anyway. Andraste's knickers, they were going to get her to swoon.

"You shameless, irresistible saps," she breathed, sagging against the snow-crested wall before she could worry about staying dry. _They didn’t have to be this sweet._ "I wouldn't have minded you reading it first."

Fenris and Sian exchanged an unreadable look, and then Fenris rolled his eyes and bowed his head as though to hide a smile. 

Sian, on the other hand, leaned in to tap Isabela on the nose. "I don't know, darling. Looking at your face, we'd say this was the better choice."

They were still looking at her, eyes bright and wide like the star-studded horizon, and she found herself wondering if their faces were as warm as hers. Sian seemed to forget her drink, and sadly her tongue had darted out, quick and pink, to steal the cream and sugar from her lips before Isabela could do anything about it. Snowflakes clung to her dark hair and lashes, fluttering against her flushed cheeks as their breath mingled in the air between them. 

The same snow vanished in Fenris's hair, but the festival lights made his eyes glow bright enough to make those fading dark circles just about melt away. He had gone silent and breathless, and did either of them know just how unfair this all really was? Did they even know the same feelings she did right now?

Biting her lip, Isabela held her hand out for Sian's, drawing her close a step, then two. With her other hand, she cupped Fenris's cheek and found out he felt warm like the sun at sea. When he closed his eyes and turned his face just enough to press his lips to her palm, Isabela felt like she'd _swallowed_ the sun. Brimming with that wonderful, ridiculous light, she closed the distance between her lips and Sian's, hoping she could taste a little of that warmth, too.

She drew back to draw breath, to kiss Fenris and then to pull them both to her, pressing their faces together. Sure, she had to lean forward on the balls of her feet and tilt her head back a bit, but it was worth it to nuzzle her nose, her cheeks, her forehead against theirs, and to dot little kisses along their jaws and at the corners of their mouths. Even before her hands followed theirs down, grasping and teasing, Isabela was lighting up warm and bright to the point where the brightest sunlit ocean had _nothing_ on her.

“...okay.... _now_ I’m going to need you in my cabin.”


End file.
